Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Hannah Warren on Victoria's Pages of Romance

Let me
introduce Hannah Warren and her new
book Casablanca,
My Heart.

Please tell us everything about your latest
book.

Oh boy,
talking about my writing is not my forte. I’d much rather sit at my desk and
invent another character than talk about the ‘whys’ and ‘hows’ of the products
of my imagination. A long time ago – when I was a literature student and a
rebel - I walked out of the lecture room because I was fed up with my
professors ‘tearing apart’ all my favourite books: what is the plot, which
subplots can you detect, how is character development realised, how does the
book fit in with its contemporaries, what are the author’s motives for
blah-blah-blah?

I became allergic to this kind of ‘vivisection of books’
because it destroyed all my fun in the sheer magic of reading and writing. No, I
never passed that degree but at last my love for books has remained intact.

Anyway, I
ended up as a translator for Miles and Boon’s (into Dutch) and fell in love
with the genre. Just for fun I tried to write one myself but that soon got out
of hand as I’m actually a bit of a poet at heart so I have a tendency to lard
my sentences with a stiff dose of lyrical, sumptuous words not generally found in
the standard candlelight romance.

But back to
Casablanca, My Heart, my début novel.

I loved
writing it, I will always be grateful to the story because it’s the first one to
go out into the world on its own, bravely defying all other millions of books
in an attempt to find readers. It’s a tentative book, me dipping my toes in the
water. Can I write, do people like my writing style, appreciate the way I tell
a story? I love complex stories, can’t stop myself from jumping into a chaotic
situation and then –splash, splash- together with the reader find all the
pieces of the puzzle to make it a fitting whole. I love dabbling with POV’s and
tenses, I guess I overdid that a bit in this one and am stricter with myself in
the next book. Still, so far readers have told me they love the book, even with
the changing chronology and POVs.

The genre.

Casablanca, My Heart is first and foremost a
contemporary romance but it can also be labelled literary or romantic fiction.

Who are the main characters?

The main
female character is Femmy Lovecraft, pen name of Heather Simpson, a 31-year old
acclaimed romance novelist, whose husband Luuk Routers, an artist and equally
famous, is in a coma as a result of an accident for which Heather blames
herself.

The male
protagonist is Ghalib Tourniquet, Prince Hassan VII, a Moroccan aristocrat and
playboy, who has been infatuated with Heather and her books for years.

How long did it take to write?

I started writing
the book five years ago and finished it a year later. Then, I left it in the
recesses of my computer to gather dust amidst all the other short stories,
poems, finished and unfinished manuscripts. Last year, I dug it out again and found
the guts to send it to a professional editor. That set the ball rolling…

Was there a period during the writing of the
story where you sat and stared at the screen because what your characters just
did surprised the heck out of you?

Constantly,
I have quite an erratic mind myself so it is no wonder my characters do
unheard-of things all the time. Luckily, I have a good sense of humour and am
broad-minded so I let them have as much fun as they can. At times they have to
pay a heavy price for that, but the good thing about romance is that they always
patch up in the end.

A good
example of such surprising behaviour is the famous hot steam scene in Chapter
4. I’ve upset some applecarts there. Readers were shocked about the sudden
passion that flared up between the two strangers, one of whom (the guy, of
course) was absolutely untrustworthy. Why did Heather let herself be fooled
like that by him? Ah well, strange things happen in Casablanca!

How did you pick the title?

Gosh, I
wouldn’t know. I know all my titles before I write the story but have no idea
where they come from. Casablanca speaks for itself as the white city is
featured so prominently in the book. And the heart? That’s the leitmotiv of the
book. Everyone has or does something with his or her heart.

Who designed your cover?

My dear
friend, the author and artist Sessha Batto. She is not only a fantastic cover
designer, she also has the patience of a saint. I was super demanding and
critical but in the end she made something that we both think has exactly the
right feel.

Who’s your publisher?

My
publisher is Tim Hewston of Taylor Street Publishing (formerly Night
Publishing). I’m very proud to be part of TSP, Tim works really hard for his
authors, many of whom have also become my friends. TSP publishes books in all
genres, also non-fiction and is based in San Francisco, CA.

Have you written other books? Their titles and
genres.

I’m
currently working on a psychological thriller, Prior To You, which I hope to finish soon so I can start the
editing rounds (some 15,000 words to go). As I’m a relentless editor and also work
with professional editors, I hope to have it published this year but it might
be the beginning of 2013.

My drawer contains
another (finished) thriller I wrote in 1993, The Goose Eater, which I might pick up one day. Then, there’s
another romance in the pipeline, Daughter
of the Alvar, situated in Sweden; a romance scam I became involved in Maker of Despair; a children’s picture
book Happy Dance and Scary Sky; at least two collections of short
stories and a poetry volume. Enough to keep me off the streets until my last
breath. J

Plotter or a pantser? Why does this work best for you?

No doubt: pantser. I only have a vague idea where the story
is going to lead me, I see the characters, their problems, the outcome but in
between... no idea. I love this process of finding out on the paper, being the
first reader of a developing story, it's one of the most exciting feelings I can
experience. I know my characters and I know how they behave, but to start off
with they’re like shadowy parts of myself, dream shapes that float in and out
of my eyesight. Whether they like marmite or wear mustard-brown underwear is really
of no importance to me at the beginning of the process. They will tell me in
due course. One of the nicest compliments I got from a reader was that according
to her each and every one of my characters was like someone she knew.

Short
question time.

Favourite TV show?

So You
Think You Can Dance. I’m totally hooked on dance, wanted to become a dancer
when I was young but it never happened. My next main character is a modern
dancer so I see it as “work” watching the show. Haha.

Most romantic place you've visited?

Paris,
always Paris, the city where I was born!

If Hollywood called, which actor should play
the hero or heroine in your book?

Reese
Witherspoon should play Heather and Hugh Jackman would be perfect to play Ghalib.

Three things you'd want on a deserted island.

My Kindle, an
Ice Tea and pair of multi-coloured flip-flops

Which would you choose – a knight in shining
armour or a roman gladiator?

A knight, whose
shining armour is fastened with Velcro so it can be undone in one swooping
movement to display his gorgeous muscles.

Favourite thing to do on a vacation?

Oh I’m not
exotic in my taste: read on the beach under a parasol, then swim in clear blue
seas, followed by a seafood-meal with my beau.

If you could meet one famous person – past or
present – who would it be? Why?

Oh no,
don’t tempt me! There are so many writers, actors, artists I am in awe of, past
and present. But if I have to choose one, it would be Leo Tolstoy. I absolute
adore every word the Master ever wrote. Anna Karenina is unsurpassed; I can read
and reread it every hour of the day.

Any last comments – ideas – your blurb or
excerpt.

Thank you
so much for this interview, Victoria. Especially for your readers I’ve selected
an excerpt from Casablanca, My Heart.

Stansted Airport, 20 September 2010

“Mummy, do
you see her yet?” Lucy cries.

“No,
sweetheart, I don’t.”

Her four
year old weight, constantly shifting on my shoulders, is starting to be
considerable.

“I’ve got
to put you down, Luus, if only for a couple of minutes. You’re getting way too heavy.
Look. You can stand on the railing over there and I’ll hold you, okay?”

“Okay, but
let’s run, Mummy. I don’t want to miss seeing Omy come.”

Lucy
wriggles free, zigzagging through the crowds at fast as her chubby legs will
carry her. I run after her, anxious I will lose sight of her, glad when I catch
hold of her hand again.

“Heather?
Heather! My God. It’s you!”

The voice
freezes me in my tracks. My immediate reflex is to run and hide, but my feet
refuse to move. I stand stiff and motionless, and unable to breathe. As if a
barrel has been stuck between my ribs.

Lucy comes
to a standstill as well, looking up at me with big, round eyes. Startled by my
sudden rigidity, she forgets about her grandmother for a moment. Then curiosity
gets the better of her and she turns to see who has called her mother’s name.
Taking heart from my daughter’s bravery, I turn to face the inevitable.

It is him.

There is no
doubt. He stands there, staring at me, at us, his expression shocked but
intense. He is the same person, but looks much older. Lines fan out around his
eyes and beside his mouth. He seems to have lost weight. But the light in his
eyes hasn’t changed in the least. They still shine with that vivid blue passion
that has been with me, inside of me, everywhere I went ever since our brief and
fateful meeting five years before. Those eyes take me in with the intensity of
someone drinking fresh, clean water after a long period of drought, but there
is nothing teasing or lustful in them this time. His gaze is turned inwards,
showing a restraint and pain that wasn’t there before. It seems to border on
sorrow.

His dark
brown hair has started to thin at the sides and is greying at the temples.
Compassion sweeps through me, but I control the urge to bridge the few steps
between us and touch his hand. I register all his visual details as if catching
up on lost years and hoarding them up … for what? The lonely years ahead?

His skin
can still be considered dark, definitely darker than most of the North
Europeans surrounding us, but even his tan, once so glamorous, has lost some of
its southern glow. He’s dressed elegantly in a dark blue business suit, but
without a speck of extravagance. At some deeper level his inner posture is
still intact, in the way he keeps himself upright, in the distinct classiness
that reveals his aristocratic background. On closer inspection I think he looks
even more attractive than he did five years ago, now all the former flashiness
and arrogance is gone.

He is
different from the other businessmen with their raincoats draped over their
overnight bags, but he seems deliberately to have chosen a low profile.

This is not
the Ghalib Tourniquet I remember. I’m puzzled by the dramatic difference in his
appearance and wonder what could have happened in his life to cause such a
drastic change. I also wonder why I care, and why I don’t feel angry with him.
In fact, anger seems the only emotion I don’t have for him.

Swallowing
the dry lump in my throat, I try to think of something to say. We must look
like a pair of idiots just standing there, mute and frozen. But no words spring
to mind. I realise Lucy’s hand is still squeezed in mine, sweaty and damp and
I’m amazed she has stood still all this time. How long we’ve been standing like
this, I don’t know.

Just as I’m
getting grounded in reality again, he takes his eyes off me and turns his gaze
to Lucy, a vague half-smile hovering on his face. Instantly, the smile
disappears. His eyes search mine again, briefly, questioning. I see the
enormity of the situation as it crosses his mind.

“Heather!
Lucy! There you are! I’ve been looking for you!”

“Omyyy!”

The spell
is broken. I become aware of the movement of people around us; they pass us by
on all sides, swiftly, anonymously. The private moment during which the three
of us existed on a remote island has passed.

I turn to
face my mother, then turn again, but he’s already moving away, his back
disappearing in the crowd, a stranger among the strangers.

Thank you
so much Hannah for visiting Victoria's Pages of Romance and for giving us a
chance to get to know you and your book Casablanca, My Heart.

Now that you've made it this far - Hannah has a giveaway. Post a comment and tell us what is your favourite flaw in a romance hero? What does he do bad/wrong but is still a hero and sexy?

Good interview! I loved the excerpt from Casablanca, My Heart - definitely makes me want to read more! I guess the flaw that I like in my heroes is for them to be sort of a rake prior to meeting the woman that changes his life - it's something that annoys me in real life (hate real life man whores) but for some reason in a good romance it's a flaw I can forgive...lol...Thanks for the giveaway

I guess the one flaw I like most in romance heroes is when they feel they know what is best for the heroine. But she shows him the error of his ways. I think I like this flaw because I like being right and proving others wrong, lol.

Lovely interview about your lovely book, Hannah!The best flaw for a romantic hero is to be still suffering (and behaving badly as a result) from a hurt in his past, usually a hurt by some other woman. For instance, Dameral in Georgette Heyer's Venetia; Mr Rochester in Jane Eyre; many, many others; and your own Gahlib, of course.Then of course the heroine helps heal his hurt!